


Back To You

by evieeden



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 19:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evieeden/pseuds/evieeden
Summary: Not everyone returned at the same time. That was the problem.Sure, the Avengers had done it – banded together, fought Thanos, somehow defeated him and gotten hold of the Infinity Stones and managed to reverse the Snap – but after that it was a waiting game.Written for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang. Inspired by artwork by Jupiter2012.





	Back To You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jupiter2012](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiter2012/gifts).



> Thank you to the lovely Jupiter2012 for letting me write this fic based on her amazing Bucky Barnes art for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang. Hopefully I did it justice.
> 
> Thank you to Abbie for beta-ing this fic for me - all mistakes not caught are definitely my own. And I hope you enjoy reading this take on the post-Infinity War world.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/86487654@N02/48128784128/in/dateposted-public/)

Not everyone returned at the same time. That was the problem.

Sure, the Avengers had done it – banded together, fought Thanos, somehow defeated him and gotten hold of the Infinity Stones and managed to reverse the Snap – but after that it was a waiting game.

Some people returned straight away – and Steve had had to choke back tears at the sound of Clint reuniting with his wife – while others took a bit longer to return; Shuri had returned a week earlier than her brother did, while the kid from Queens took nearly a month to come back.

Steve waited patiently… or tried to.

He was grateful, so fucking grateful, that it was working, that they had managed to get the missing back, but he also wished they could have all returned at once, rather than a few at a time. It made the wait harder. It let in that sliver of doubt that whispered that maybe they wouldn’t all come back.

Maybe he would be left waiting forever.

Wanda was the first of his team to return, almost 6 weeks after the final battle, and was followed only an hour later by Sam. He sat between both of them, hugging them tightly to him and silently thanking Stephen Strange – one of the first to arrive back – for returning them home using his ability to create portals.

Sam had pulled away after a while to go and try contacting his family, but Wanda stayed plastered to his side, her fingers grasping repeatedly at his shirt, her nails digging into the skin at his side. Steve liked it; it helped him remember that this was real, that all the heartache was worth it.

That even though they had lost the battle, they had won the war.

He knew that. Wanda and Sam’s presence told him that.

But the waiting…

The loss and the win and then the waiting… It was agony.

But he could be patient. He could do this. Steve had spent seventy years under the ice as time and the world sped past him. He was sure he could wait a little longer.

Wanda scrunched his shirt between her fingers and tugged a little, bringing his attention down to her.

“He’ll come back,” she stated confidently.

His heart leapt at her words and he forced himself to remain cool. “Who?” he asked, shooting for casual disinterest and missing by a mile.

Wanda gave him a look that said everything and then turned her attention back to the lake stretching out across the compound’s grounds.

It was peaceful here, or rather, it _should_ be peaceful here, but Steve felt an itch crawling around the base of his spine.

“And then what?” he finally answered Wanda. “Bucky comes back and everyone gets a happy ending.”

He flinched even as he said it.

There were no happy endings for Wanda. Her home was gone, her family, her brother and now her lover… there was nothing happy about any of this for her. He thought maybe that was why he got on so well with her – the both knew the absolute devastation of loss and how it felt to be the last one standing when you wished that you could have fallen first.

Guilt suffusing him, Steve pulled Wanda into a tighter hug and she buried her face into the shoulder of his t-shirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I’m an idiot.”

Wanda laughed wetly into his shoulder. “Yes, you are. But it’s okay. I forgive you.” She pulled back and wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, leaving smears of black mascara across them.

“He’ll be back,” she repeated confidently. “And then you’ll be able to tell him how you feel.”

Steve looked at her sharply at that, but she was back to staring serenely across the lake. He briefly wondered what it must be like to be so confident of the feelings of everyone around you. Part of him thought it would be kind of fun, useful too, to know who were your real friends and who were your enemies. But it also would mean no surprises; everyone and everything would be laid bared to you.

You would never get to experience that secret thrill that shot down your spine whenever you saw someone you liked. It didn’t matter whether they knew about your feelings or returned them, it was just nice to have that feeling every now and then.

Steve had been feeling that shivery thrill since he was 15, when Bucky had come over one sticky Summer day and they had stripped to their undershirts, lying on the burning metal of the fire steps and praying for a breeze to come and temporarily relieve them from the stifling heat. They had been laughing about something – he couldn’t remember what – and he had looked over at Bucky, clutching his stomach as he laughed… and Steve suddenly couldn’t look away.

He had felt that thrill every time Bucky caught his eye after that.

He never said anything though.

It was never the right moment, never the right time, never the right thoughts to be having when confessions like that could land you at the bottom of the East River.

He thought Bucky knew though. Sometimes Steve almost thought that he’d caught him looking his way once or twice, but he was never certain. And back then, it was the kind of thing you needed to be certain about before you started running your mouth.

It was Bucky’s promise though that had made Steve think that he wasn’t the only one getting thrills about his best friend.

_To the end of the line…_

That was devotion. That could almost be a lover’s promise.

Bucky had Steve’s love, even if it wasn’t reciprocated, not like that.

It was also a vow never to give up on each other, never to leave the other alone. Yet here Steve was. Alone.

They said that history was doomed to repeat itself. Fate and human stubbornness cursing everyone to suffer the same mistakes over and over.

In that moment, Steve felt like it would never end. He and Bucky were doomed over and over again to be torn apart. It didn’t matter what they did, how many fresh starts they got where they found each other again, they were cursed to be dragged away from each other.

Brooklyn. The advent of war. The train. The Triskelion. Russia. Wakanda.

Steve didn’t know if he could take it anymore. It was the same painful, heart-wrenching loss time and time again. There came a point where he felt that one more blow was all it would take to level him to the floor. To do what all the enemies he had faced over the years had failed to.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t realise he had spoken aloud until Wanda turned to look at him sharply. She nudged him gently with her shoulder and he squeezed her gently.

“I can’t just sit here and wait anymore. Especially if…” He couldn’t say it. He wanted to, but the possibility was too horrible. That Bucky might never… “I can’t do it.”

Wanda nodded thoughtfully, leaning over to gently cup his chin and kissed him on the cheek.

“Then go. We’ll find you when we need to… when he comes back.”

Steve was suddenly so overwhelmingly grateful for his friends. So grateful that they had returned. That he had them with him and that they were back and safe.

He hugged Wanda again, not minding when she clung back to him, her nails digging into his back.

“Maybe I won’t go just yet,” he murmured.

She laughed wetly. “It would be nice to spend some time together first.”

They drew apart and both turned their gaze towards the lake once more as the dying sun rippled streaks of red and gold across the surface.

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Bucky blinked awake, awareness coming back to him in a rush. He squinted as sunlight hit his eyes and there was a rushing sound as the wind blew through the trees high above him. The green canopy swayed above him before his eyes focused enough to make out the individual leaves.

Instinct kept him frozen until he could ascertain his surroundings.

There was no-one else around as far as he could tell. No tell-tale signs of other humans – footsteps, whispers, heartbeats drumming through their veins and into his ears.

Just the winds and… birds, trilling to each other, hidden by the leaves overhead.

As if they heard him thinking, a pair of blue turacos flitted across the sky in front of him.

_Wakanda_. He was in Wakanda.

A tightness in his chest that he didn’t know was there until that moment loosened.

He knew where he was. He was in Wakanda. He had been in Wakanda since that awful day in Siberia with the other created soldiers and Stark. T’Challa… Yes, T’Challa had given him sanctuary. They had removed those triggers from his brain, ensured that no-one would ever be able to control him in that way again, and given him refuge. Somewhere he could just… be.

He had been at peace – well, as much at peace as he thought he would ever be, but he had his place in the village, he had a jobs that he could do to help earn his keep. One arm or not, the extra strength in his body had definitely come in handy during harvest.

He also had Steve. It had taken a while, but eventually he had reached out to his friend, two continents and what seemed like a million miles away. It was… good. It was calm. He was finally starting to feel like a normal person again.

And then T’Challa and Okoye had appeared over that hill with a new arm and a new fight and he could just feel the small parts of Bucky Barnes that had clawed their way to freedom sink back beneath the parts of him that screamed to fight and win and protect Steve no matter what.

He didn’t remember much of the fight, he just remembered towards the end when they were fighting Thanos directly feeling strange, like the moment before vomiting where you can sense the sickness in your body but can’t stop it, but he assumed that since he was laying on the ground and he couldn’t hear any of the usual screams or shouts that marked the terror of battle that it was over.

It was strange though. The silence.

Both Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier had learned to dread the sound of silence.

Silence in both their worlds either meant death for everyone around them or slow, painful freezing.

He sat up.

Nothing. No bodies. No soldiers trying valiantly not to weep as they collected the bodies of their comrades.

No Steve…

What the fuck!

Bucky scrambled to his feet, stumbling as vertigo suddenly hit.

He was still in the wooded area where they had confronted Thanos, but everyone was missing. Even worse, there were no signs that there had ever been a battle there in the first place.

Even his gun was missing.

He supposed he should be grateful that he still had his other weapons tucked into his armour.

Drawing out one of his knives, he moved slowly out of the forest and onto the plain. It was empty, barren.

The battle had left scars on the landscape though; he could see them in the gouges torn in the earth by Thanos’ machines.

In the distance he could hear the humming of the city and see vehicles moving around, jets flying in and out and feel the rattling of the trains through the mountains. So life went on and people survived then.

That was promising.

Except… why had Steve disappeared.

Not just him as well – the Widow, Sam, Wanda, Stark’s allies… None of them were there. They had all been separated towards the end, but no-one had looked for him or found him out in the forest.

Unless… Unless there was no-one left alive who would think to look for him.

If everyone who would remember him was…

Bucky started running, then sprinting, back towards the city knife in hand.

Reaching the outskirts, he dashed through the streets, ducking around people, ignoring the cries of annoyance left behind as he pushed and dodged his way further through the city towards the palace. As he ran he searched for a familiar face, _any_ familiar face. Someone who could recognise him and know that he was still alive. He was still here.

What he didn’t expect was the look of fright he received upon reaching the gates.

Two of the Dora – he recognised one of them, Ayo – gasped in shock when he reached then, backing into a defensive stance, spears at the ready.

He didn’t understand; everything was confusing and didn’t make sense.

Sure, he was filthy and bloody from the battle, but that was to be expected. There was nothing to suggest why he should be greeted as the enemy.

Unless he was the enemy, of course. Unless somehow removing his programming had failed and once again he had inadvertently betrayed the people he was allied with.

“T’Challa! Please!” he gasped. “I need to speak to him. Please! Is he… is Shuri? _Please!_ ”

Ayo straightened up slowly, something unfamiliar flitting briefly across her face. “I will take you,” she agreed.

“Thank you. _Thank you!_ ”

He followed as she began to stride quickly through the white halls of the palace. As they walked, Bucky tucked his knife back into his armour and attempted to push his lank hair back from his face to make himself look more presentable.

There was something nagging at him though as they walked. He quickly realised that it was the attention they were getting from the other people dotted around the palace. As soon as he and Ayo came into view, conversations stopped and a palpable hush fell.

It was deeply unnerving, especially as the part of him that was still the Soldier was used to be unnoticed and flying under the radar. To draw attention was bad. To draw attention meant that people might notice you doing the bad things you did under the protective cover of darkness.

Bucky shook his head to try and jolt himself out of that viewpoint.

He wasn’t in danger. He was in Wakanda and he was safe. And given that Ayo hadn’t challenged him on his demands to see the king, he could only assume that so were T’Challa, Shuri and their mother.

Ayo knocked sharply twice on the doors to the council and then pushed them open, saluting as she did.

Bucky followed behind, a spike of anxiety suddenly putting him on edge. His rising panic was only heightened when T’Challa rose from the throne with a look of pure shock on his face.

Bucky froze. He had seen that expression before. Just the once. On an underpass on a Washington street, right before he’d raised the barrel of a gun to the face of the only man he’d ever loved.

As if the will that had kept him upright had suddenly vanished, he crashed to his knees on the floor, breathing heavily as nausea threatened.

Ignoring his guards, T’Challa rushed forward to catch him before the rest of him fell.

“Easy, my friend. Easy now.”

But he barely heard the words.

It all made sense now. Why the battle was over, why no-one had looked for him, why he had woken all alone…

It wasn’t Steve who had died on the battlefield.

It was Bucky.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“Two years?” he repeated.

“Two years,” Shuri confirmed again, handing him a steaming drink of… something. He didn’t know what. To be honest, he thought that he was still in shock.

He must’ve been. At some point someone had draped a blanket over him and there had been lots of whispered mutterings before he was swept away to Shuri’s lab, where she, T’Challa and Okoye were now trying very hard not to stare at him.

“Half the world just…” He clicked his fingers and Okoye flinched. “Sorry,” he apologised.

“Why two years?” Bucky asked, not really expecting an answer.

T’Challa was kind enough to try to give him one anyway. “We do not know. None of our scientists have been able to determine why some people returned almost immediately after the effects were reversed or why others took… longer.” He moved over to stare out of the window towards the battlefield.

From what he had said, half the population of the galaxy had vanished in the snap, turned to dust before their loved ones’ eyes, T’Challa and Shuri included.

He could only thank whatever kind of God there was that it had managed to be reversed, that families could be reunited once more.

But still…

“Two years. When did everyone else return?” He was suddenly desperate to know, greedy.

It was Shuri who answered this time. “I returned two days after the final battle. My brother a week later. The other warriors were mostly returned within six months-”

“Which is why we need to apologise, Sergeant,” T’Challa interjected. “We originally had scouts monitoring the returns and assisting those who needed it back to their homes, but after so long,” he paused, “they did not expect anyone else to make it back.”

“There was much confusion,” Okoye finally spoke up, “over whom had fallen valiantly in battle and whom we could expect to reappear. Captain Rogers swore that you had fallen to Thanos, but when you did not reappear as everyone else did - ”

She shrugged.

Bucky kept his eyes fixed on the mug while he considered what he had been told.

The time jump didn’t really bother him. As awful as it would be to most people to suddenly be told you had missed out on two years of living, for him it was just another case of falling out of consciousness in one year and coming back in another.

What worried him this time, as it had when he had gone into cryostasis in Wakanda after the fight with Stark, was what had happened to his allies in that time. Most specifically, what had happened to Steve?

The Wakandans had been very thorough with their explanations of what had happened while he had been away, but it had not escaped his notice that some information had been left out of their description of the last two years.

“Where’s Steve?” He considered being delicate about it, but decided that he had done enough dancing around subjects to last a life time so would just get the question out the way.

The three Wakandans exchanged a glance.

He bolted out of his seat at that look, blanket and mug falling to the floor. Vaguely he registered the prickling burn as the hot drink spilled over his legs, but dismissed it immediately. Any damage would be healed quickly enough that he wasn’t going to worry about it.

He was going to worry about Steve though.

That look. What did that look mean?

Dread welled up once more. Where was Steve? If Steve wasn’t here, then that could only mean something had gone wrong.

“Bucky.”

He blinked. Shuri was in front of him, but she was blurry around the edges.

“Bucky, I need you to breathe. In, hold it and now exhale. Breathe in, hold it and exhale.”

Blindly, he followed her instructions and felt something within him settle, his chest easing. Shuri’s face was still blurry though and when he impatiently swiped at his eyes, he was surprised when they came back wet.

T’Challa moved forward then, one hand coming to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. “Be at peace, my friend. No harm has befallen Captain Rogers.”

“He needs rest,” Okoye’s voice sounded very far away.

He felt himself losing time before he re-focused enough to hear Shuri mention something about guest suites and then he was being moved, one hand on his arm leading him out of the lab and into the main building before he reached the room that had been his previously, before he retreated to the village, back when everyone walked on eggshells around him and the Dora Milaje treated him like a risk every time he sneezed, just in case his programming kicked in again.

By the time the universe began to right itself again, Okoye and Shuri had disappeared and he was left perched on the end of the bed, T’Challa sat waiting patiently in an armchair across the room.

“Where’s Steve?” he asked, blind to everything else, willing T’Challa to give him something… anything.

“Alive and well,” the king reassured him. “So you do not have to worry on his account.”

Something loosened in his chest and all became clear and sharp once more. His brain worked lightning fast, analysing what had been said to him.

“Alive and well, but not here,” he surmised.

T’Challa inclined his head, confirming his suspicions.

“Where is he?”

“I do not know,” T’Challa replied. “I only know that following the fight against Thanos and your…absence…” – it was delicately put – “he chose to take some time away from the battlefield for his own benefit.”

“But…”

“Sergeant Barnes.” T’Challa paused. “Bucky. I am sure that when the Captain hears of your return, he will make the journey to Wakanda. In the meantime, rest. Being recovered from the land of the dead exhausts the body.”

Bucky was about to protest when T’Challa’s next words stopped him.

“Trust me, I know.”

Of course. It was selfish to think only of himself and Steve. How many other people had gone through this? Had thought their loved ones lost only to then have to recover them and start over again. Just thinking about it brought on a yawn.

He nodded reluctantly at the king.

“Be at peace, my friend. We have sent word to the Avengers compound and have no doubt we will receive a reply shortly. Now,” he stood up decisively, “rest.”

The door clicked shut quietly behind him and Bucky was left alone with his thoughts.

Two years!

No wonder Steve wasn’t still hanging around Wakanda waiting for him to magically reappear. From what T’Challa and Shuri had said, no-one expected anyone else on the battlefield that day to reappear.

Liquid ice slid down his spine as the realisation hit him.

The Wakandans had had guards stationed out on the battlefield to greet returning dusted soldiers. Only they hadn’t had any waiting around when he returned. They weren’t expecting him to return as they thought that he had fallen on the battlefield. And after so long…

_Steve._

Steve wasn’t here and T’Challa didn’t seem to be making any move to contact him. Because after so long, no-one expected him to make it back alive.

Steve didn’t expect him to make it back alive. Steve thought he was dead.

The thought left Bucky shivering, body weak and disoriented, while his mind raced. He wanted to jump up and run out of the door, out of kingdom and find Steve, grab him, hold him and never let go.

But he couldn’t.

Because Steve probably thought he was dead. Steve had probably had to mourn yet again for the man who just kept leaving him behind.

Bucky had never wanted to leave Steve… ever. Yet time and time again, circumstances or bad luck or just the whole world conspiring against them made that impossible. He couldn’t do that anymore; he couldn’t leave Steve alone yet again, while Bucky sorted his life out to go and get him.

Full of impetus, he stood up and then abruptly collapsed back onto the bed, bone-deep exhaustion ridding his bones of any ability to support him.

Well, that and he thought Shuri might have slipped him some kind of sedative in his drink earlier. Usually he could push through any tiredness regardless of what his body was screaming at him, thanks to his training at the hands of Hydra. It was only with chemical support that fatigue really hit him.

That being said, past experience had taught him that coming back from the dead – curse Zola and his demonic experiments – always took more out of him that coming out of cryo did. He wished he didn’t know half the stuff about his body’s reactions that he did.

Half-heartedly kicking off his boots, he divested himself of his weapons before he accidentally stabbed himself in his sleep.

Before sleep overwhelmed him, Bucky clung to T’Challa’s reassurances.

The compound had been contacted and if Steve was there – hell, even if Wilson or Romanoff were there – they would be able to put Bucky back in contact with Steve again.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

“I have no idea how to get hold of Steve,” Sam announced cheerfully, shovelling some kind of wafer pancake into his mouth.

Bucky glared, hoping the other man could feel his brain burning.

He had been pleased when he had stumbled out of his suite in the morning, bleary eyed but showered and dressed more for lounging around rather than for battling God knows what, to find Sam and Wanda had arrived in Wakanda overnight and were waiting for him along with breakfast.

Despite his rocky relationship with Sam, and his minimal prior acquaintance with Wanda, both had hugged him fiercely when he had stumbled into the dining room. From what Okoye had shared this morning, he knew that both of them had died in the snap too, although both seemed relatively settled now.

“He said he needed some time to just…recover from all of this, I guess.” Sam shovelled another pancake into his mouth as Bucky aggressively stabbed his own with a fork. “You’ve got to remember, dude, that he didn’t vanish, he kept going – all of them did – and having everyone and everything turn upside down like that, it has an effect on you.” He scowled as he chewed. “Not to mention, that man should have been in therapy years before I met him.” Sam shook his head. “He’s practically got PTSD leaking out of his ears at this point.”

Bucky flinched.

Steve’s failure to cope with the aftermath of war, the modern world and even losing Bucky the first time was evident to his best friend, even after spending only a molecule of time with him. He had always been angry, always been fighting, always raging against some injustice or cause, but back then Bucky had felt he could always have those quiet moments too, those moments where they could just sit together and read or sketch or talk.

Just breathe together.

Following Steve after Bucharest, from Germany to Russia to Wakanda, it had felt like the man he had left behind was burning all the time, flames licking inside him until there would be nothing left.

There was no peace in him, no quiet, and part of Bucky, the part of him that was still Sergeant Barnes from the 107th, and not the Winter Soldier from whichever dastardly organisation could afford to maintain him and his cryostasis unit, just wanted to wrap him up in a blanket, wrap him up in his arms and just sit together.

Neither of them had felt that kind of peace in so long. So he could understand why Steve would have run after so much destruction. Hell, if he’d had his own way, he would’ve stayed out in the village, raising his goats, farming the land and Skyping Steve every other week, instead of facing yet another fighting.

They were children of war, both of them.

But after a while, even those who flourished in war deserved rest.

Even him.

It was just frustrating that Steve had chosen to rest somewhere where Bucky couldn’t reach him.

“He didn’t say where he was going at all?” Bucky felt like banging his head against the table, he felt like screaming in Sam’s face for being so calm, he felt like curling up in a tiny ball and weeping because once again, he and Steve were separated and he had no idea when he would see him again.

Sam swallowed and exchanged a knowing glance with Wanda. He leaned forward, elbows on the table; Bucky’s ma would’ve had his head.

“Look,” he started firmly, but not unkindly. “Cap was on the edge, he needed a break. He knew it, everyone else knew it and he finally did something about it. This isn’t like… He didn’t _just disappear_.”

The unspoken words were load and clear. _This isn’t like you. He didn’t disappear leaving three hundred thousand tons of metal helicarrier in the Potomac. He didn’t run anytime it looked like someone might find him._

He pursed his lips.

“He checks in every now and then,” Sam continued. “Keeps his location quiet, of course, just in case anyone listening in gets the idea to track him down. But he’s not really much for company these days.”

Bucky sighed in frustration. “How am I meant to find him?”

“Not to play Devil’s advocate, but what if you’re not meant to find him?”

Bucky studied Sam’s expression carefully. The other man was deadly serious about the question. He refused to accept it as an answer though.

“I’m meant to find him.”

His answer was definitive. Certain.

He thought he caught the vague hint of a smile dancing around Wanda’s mouth.

“Yeah?” The Falcon didn’t look convinced. “And why should I believe that after you took his ass on a merry jaunt around Hydra’s finest dungeons for the better part of two years then, before putting yourself right back in the freezer? Which part of that shows that you’re ‘meant’ to find him?”

The loyalty Steve could inspire in other people had always been impressive, and Bucky found he couldn’t begrudge Sam that loyalty.

“Because I love him,” he answered simply.

Sam sat back, the surprise on his face clear. Wanda on the other hand leaned forward, smiling brightly.

“You love him?” she questioned softly, reaching out to take his metal hand between hers.

“Since I was fourteen,” he confessed. “But I was no good to him when I was half out of my mind and terrified that a bunch of words could turn me into his enemy. What happened in Berlin should never have happened. I should never have been a risk to Steve, but I was. I wanted to avoid him until I had everything sorted, but it didn’t work out that way.”

Sam ran his tongue over his teeth and then leaned forward intently. “And what if it doesn’t work out now? You say you love him, right? What if that’s not reciprocated? What then?”

It almost pained him to think of it, but then he had pretty much accepted that Steve was too good for him long ago. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to be near him, to love him. Even if Steve never loved him back. He knew that Steve cared for him, that much was evident, and that would be enough.

Anytime in this life spent with Steve would be enough.

“He’s still my best friend,” he struggled to explain. “That doesn’t change… no matter what.”

Wanda squeezed his hand, and when he looked up from where he had been staring blindly at his plate, he caught the tail-end of a look she was giving Sam.

Pushing his empty plate to one side, Sam sighed. “Okay, man, this is how it goes. Steve checks in with the compound once a month, just to check that everything’s still quiet on the western front. He’ll speak to whoever’s around, but the signal’s bounced off around like seventy satellites so you can’t track where he is.” He leaned back. “He is, however, able to be contacted in case the world ends. Or, you know,” Sam gestured towards Bucky, “if his childhood best friend comes back from the dead.”

Filtering through the superfluous information, Bucky focused on what was important.

“So he’s able to be contacted?”

Sam winced. “Sort of. The satellite scrambles are all run through Stark Industries, so we know that Tony knows roughly where he’s staying.”

Stark knew. Great. Because he and Bucky were such good friends what with the attempted homicide in Russia and the actual homicide that Hydra instigated back in the 90s. Yeah, he and Stark were the bestest of best friends.

“I’m fairly sure that Nat knows where he is as well.”

Another crushing mistake made under Hydra’s control. Bucky was really two for two today.

“So I’m screwed basically.”

Another glance.

“What?” Bucky demanded.

Wanda released his head delicately. “Stark…owes me,” she stated softly. “He knows that and he was there when T’Challa called to tell us the news about you.”

“And?” It was almost too much to be hopeful.

Wanda retreated and disappeared back into the hallway before returning, lugging something heavy in a cymbal bag.

Bucky’s eyes shot to hers uncertainly. “The shield?”

“Repainted and buffed with all the scratches missing.” She leaned against the case. “I think he wants him to take it back, because if he does, it means that he’s back in the game.” Wanda shrugged. “Stark misses him too.”

His eyes felt like they were glued to that case, to everything it represented.

“The shield came with a set of co-ordinates,” Sam interjected. He also stood up so he was side by side with Wanda. “We don’t think they’re where Cap is, but they’re a start.”

Bucky felt completely and utterly lost. This was somehow both more and less than what he wanted.

Dread welled up inside him. “What if I can’t find him?”

What if it was all for nothing? What if he couldn’t find him no matter how hard he tried? What if he took the shield and tried to give it to Steve? What if he didn’t? What if he got there and Steve didn’t want Bucky with him?

“It belongs to him.” Wanda was suddenly next to him. “Even if he chooses never to raise it in battle again. It’s part of him.”

‘As are you,” suddenly echoed through his head.

Bucky looked sharply at her, but she wasn’t paying him any attention anymore, her attention drawn to running her fingers over the top of the shield.

It took Bucky a moment to realise that Sam and Wanda were waiting for his response. The shield was like a looming weight over his head. But there was the promise of Steve looming overhead too, and it suddenly felt like that was all he needed, that was what he had been waiting for so long.

Bucky swallowed hard, trying not meet Sam and Wanda’s expectant gazes.

“What are the co-ordinates?”

\---------------------------------------------------------------

The trouble was, Bucky mused as he tried to dampen out the fire on his left arm, that when you went traipsing through the Winter Soldier’s old stomping grounds carrying Captain America’s shield, you tended to draw attention.

Hydra. AIM. Offshoots from the Red Room.

All of them came crawling out of the woodwork, most of them under the impression that since Captain America hadn’t been seen in over a year and the Winter Soldier had the shield, that he was back in business.

This last fight had been messy. Very messy. From the moment, he followed a very old trail left by Steve – _thank you very much, Stark_ – to a decimated ex-Hydra base, to being confronted by one of the old Red Room girls. He didn’t have many of his memories back, everything tended to be a bit patchy, but at least he could be thankful that Belova had never been as effective a Widow as Romanoff.

He had run into her too earlier in the month, in some dump near Sofia. They hadn’t spoken much, too much history and brainwashing between them to make any sense of each other, but she had at least pointed him in the right direction. Closer to where Steve should be anyway.

Romania.

It was a beautiful country, and an ideal place to hide, but come on Stevie. _Really?_ Fond memories of trying to escape the CIA?

Making sure the rest of his arm had been damped down – heaven knows fire could play havoc with the circuits – Bucky climbed inside the car he had ‘borrowed’ two days ago and drove off towards his final destination: a tiny village on the coast outside Constanta.

Small houses dotted the countryside, while glittering reflections bounced off the sea in the distance. It was a beautiful place, Bucky acknowledged. He could see why Steve would like it: a small community, neighbours, but not so many that you would feel overwhelmed, and the views.

Yes, Bucky could understand why someone would want to wake up every day to these views. They were beautiful, and he didn’t even have the same artistic nature as Steve.

Still, it was the kind of place where he didn’t think it was possible for you to feel caged in, the kind of place where you could feel free.

It felt…right. Perfect for Steve.

Hopefully perfect for him too, but he didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself. For all he knew, Stevie might have made this place into a solitary haven with no room for Bucky in it. He might have moved on with his life, so far that there wasn’t a place for Bucky anymore. There were plenty of people out there who weren’t brainwashed ex-assassins and some of them might even be good enough for Steve.

But he hoped not.

It was wrong, it was selfish and wrong, to think like that, but Bucky thought he had always been selfish when it came to Steve. Always wanted to hoard his affections and attention like a dragon guarding its treasure.

A small part of him had hated Steve for giving in to Erskine and turning his Stevie, who never caught anyone’s eye, into Captain America, whom everyone wanted a piece of.

Still, he thought, as he pulled up to a small, one-storey house set a little apart from the others, what was the worst that could happen that hadn’t already happened?

Cheerful thought as that was, it didn’t help him any when it came to actually getting out of the car, nerves paralysing him to his seat. Part of him rebuked himself; he had come all this way, just to fall at the last hurdle. He needed to get it together before someone noticed the strange man with the metal arm having a panic attack outside someone’s house.

Or not, as it turned out someone had noticed anyway.

Steve emerged from the house, squinting in the sunlight in the direction of Bucky’s car.

He looked… good, Bucky thought. He had kept his beard and the longish hair, but there was something about him that looked relaxed. Something about the way he stood and carried himself as he walked down through the small front garden towards Bucky’s car. Maybe not entirely happy though, given the lines that now seemed embedded around his eyes.

It was now or never.

Bucky slid ungracefully out of the car, trying his best to curb his usual nervous reaction which was to reach for a gun. He turned to face Steve, his eyes still lowered to the other man’s feet, as he tried to smile.

Steve let out a choked sound. “Bucky?”

He sounded… God, he sounded amazing.

Bucky finally raised his eyes and saw that Steve was trembling, a fine wobble coming to his mouth as his eyes filled with tears. Bucky’s own eyes were starting to feel suspiciously wet.

“Hi Stevie,” he whispered, unable to raise his voice any further.

Steve staggered forward, his legs suddenly giving way and Bucky darted to grab him, to steady him. And then they were close, too close, bodies pressed against each other, clinging on for dear life and the tear weren’t just a threat anymore, but were streaming down his face without stopping.

Steve’s fingers were clinging and clutching at him, digging into his back and he didn’t think he would be letting go anytime soon.

“I love you.” He had to say it. A hundred years and he had never let himself vocalise how he felt before, but he needed Steve to know, needed him to understand that Bucky never wanted to leave him again, had never wanted to leave him in the first place. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” It was a vow and a promise. He didn’t need to hear it back; he just wanted to finally make his feelings clear after all this time.

Against all odds though, Steve was saying it back, mumbling it fervently into his neck. “I love you too, Buck. I’m so in love with you. I’m so glad you’re here; I needed you. I missed you so badly. I love you.”

Bucky kissed him sloppily, lips meeting whatever skin they could find, trying to explain without words the fervency of his devotion. And then…

Their lips met. Finally.

And the last little missing part of Bucky Barnes finally came home from war.


End file.
